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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26447281">No One Puts The White Wolf In A Cage</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyBirdy6602/pseuds/NerdyBirdy6602'>NerdyBirdy6602</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:00:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,098</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26447281</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyBirdy6602/pseuds/NerdyBirdy6602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt set out from Kaer Morhen to take on his first bounty of the season, except the bounty is placed on a creature that doesn't deserve to die. When Geralt decides to stick to his moral compass, he realizes he's pissed off the wrong noble. Jaskier finds out...</p><p>And all hell breaks loose.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>336</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>No One Puts The White Wolf In A Cage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt had been locked away in some baron’s dungeon for three weeks. He was summoned to the court to get rid of a troll who hadn’t been maintaining the central bridge, and instead spent most of his days drunk. They didn’t ask him to reconcile with the troll or compromise, but ordered his death instead. It was a cruel misunderstanding that trolls weren’t sentient creatures. In fact, the truth of the matter was that they had complex relationships and passionate emotions. To kill them without just cause would be murder in Geralt’s eyes. He had a strict moral code to upkeep.</p><p>So he and the troll had spoken, and it turned out that the troll had only needed his lady friend to return. Geralt wasn’t often in the habit of matchmaking, but he would do it if it could save a life. It took time and the promise of alcohol from the local tavern, but they were eventually happily united. Geralt, satisfied with his work, returned to the baron’s estate to inform them that the trolls would cause no trouble. His supposedly non-existent heart sank, however, when the baron flew into a rage. He was accused of being a monster lover, not a monster killer. Geralt had tried to explain and protest in his own Witcher-y way, but the baron only took it as a threat. He then ordered Geralt to spend the rest of his mutant days in the filthiest dungeon on the Continent, stripped of any swords, bombs, traps, or potions that could have helped him.</p><p>Since then, a guard had been at the door of his cell at all times. He hadn’t been given much of anything in terms of food or drink. When he asked, Geralt had been told in a sneer that mutants didn’t need food or drink. It would be a waste of resources. The Witcher had only sighed and returned to meditating, since this was all he could do to slow his own metabolic processes. This only got harder as the days crawled onward as it became increasingly difficult to focus on an empty stomach.</p><p>About a week into his stay in the dungeon, they took to beating him daily. The baron had decided he’d been living too comfortably, so the men were ordered to torture the Witcher. Fists flew against his cheeks, and iron-toed boots left deep purple bruises against his back and abdomen. Geralt’s training gave him enough restraint not to react, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Even as they smashed the back of his head against the rock floor, he refused to give them the satisfaction of crying out. Even as he saw double, he remained unmovable; untouchable. Vesemir would have been immensely proud of his stoicism. It astonished the guards how much the man could take, and they reported to the baron their disappointment.</p><p>This was when the men started coming armed with weapons. Under normal circumstances, Geralt would have made a plan to disarm them and escape with what little dignity he had left. However, his muscles had grown too weak from malnourishment and he could barely move. The swords, daggers, and other blades added to the myriad of scars against his pale skin. Still, the Witcher only gave a slight flinch now and then when the cool steel brushed too close for comfort. He never said a word because he knew he could not surrender. Geralt would remain confident and still in the face of these monsters who claimed to be men. He had to be. </p><p>Meanwhile, Jaskier had been off on a personal errand, performing in the halls of a few kingdoms along the way. He’d told Geralt where he would be by the end of the month and to meet him there, but there had been no response. It wasn’t particularly unusual. Sometimes the Witcher simply didn’t have time to write a full letter back, and would instead prove he had received the letter just by showing up. No matter what, Geralt of Rivia always showed. It was one of the only constants in Jaskier’s life.</p><p>That is, until it wasn’t.</p><p>Jaskier waited a week, and then another. All the while, he paced within his room at the inn between performances. Geralt was never this late. It simply wasn’t his style. At the end of his second week, he finally started to ask around about the White Wolf. Most of them weren’t very helpful, claiming that they were glad not to see the so-called Butcher of Blaviken. Jaskier refrained from punching each and every one of them in the face. It certainly wouldn’t make them talk to him more. A few days passed before he heard a conversation that actually helped him.</p><p>“Did you hear about the Butcher,” a drunken man muttered to his compatriot at the bar. “He crossed the wrong noble, he did! Heard he’s secretly a monster lover. Couldn’t bear to kill one of his own kind.”</p><p>“Aye,” the other man said, a malicious smile on his lips. “Heard they keep him in the dungeon. Beat him senseless too.”</p><p>That was the last straw for Jaskier. He sat down at the table and pounded his fist on the table. The mugs went clattering to the floor, and the bard looked and acted like a man possessed. A growl unfurled from the bard’s throat so threatening that Geralt would be proud. Menacingly, he whispered, “If you don’t tell me where Geralt is being held, I swear to Melitele above I will tear you both a new arsehole.”</p><p>With trembling form, the first drunkard stuttered and informed, “Next village to the north. Less than a day’s ride, bard. What’s with all the worry? You look like… a fine fellow, sir.”</p><p>Jaskier laughed mirthlessly, stepping away from the pair as he slings his lute on his shoulder. Loudly, he declared, “That Witcher you speak of is my Witcher, gentlemen. No one hurts Geralt of Rivia if I can help it.”</p><p>The bard strode off, leaving the two men baffled by the thought of someone willingly travelling with a monster hunter. Jaskier didn’t mind because he was already formulating a plan to save Geralt from the clutches of the baron. He gathered his things and bribed a stable boy a handsome sum to let him take a horse for his own. It was urgent, afterall, and no price was too steep for Geralt’s wellbeing.</p><p>As promised, it took just under a day for Jaskier to arrive near the gates of the baron’s keep. He dismounted his borrowed horse and changed into an outfit much more appropriate for meeting nobility. The bard slipped into the role of the viscount, a person he hadn’t been in years. He had long abandoned his role, and his family, for the chance to travel the world. The outfit remained among his belongings in case he truly needed his noble blood to help him out of a particularly tight situation. Jaskier only hoped that his noble robes and official family crest could fool the baron.</p><p>He approached the gates of the keep guarded by two men in rather menacing suits of armor. Each instinctively brandished their swords, but Jaskier didn’t dare flinch. Instead, he proclaimed, “How dare you threaten me, nobility, with your swords! Have you no knowledge of who I am? I am Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. Your baron has something that doesn’t belong to him. I’d like him returned to me. Now.”</p><p>By now, both guards had set down their weapons in response to his title. To continue to threaten nobility would be foolish as mere guards. One gently tried to placate the viscount by stating, “We’ll bring you to our lord, sir. Please forgive us for the misunderstanding.”</p><p>The bard barely contained his glee as the men led him inside, one step closer towards rescuing Geralt. Glancing about, Jaskier could tell this wasn’t a man of class. The walls were nearly crumbling as he entered. Stained glass windows had a spider web of cracks along the once-beautiful pictures. The keep needed work, to say the least. Then again, it perfectly reflected the man himself, who must definitely be a piece of work to trap an innocent man. Shaking himself from his thoughts, Jaskier turned his focus to the baron before him, who looked more pissed off than frightened.</p><p>That would change soon enough.</p><p>“Who the ‘ell are you, good man? I’ve never seen you around before,” the baron asked bluntly. “I hear that I’ve taken something that belongs to you, but I am no thief.”</p><p>“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove,” he sneered, taking a step closer to the noble. “I would like Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, returned to my care. I outrank you, sir. My claim on him is stronger than yours.”</p><p>The baron blinked in shock, and started to laugh. This only irritated Jaskier further, and he had every intention of slapping the grin from this man’s face until he stated, “That man’s a criminal. I planned to have him put to death by sundown tonight, actually. It would be a mercy, too. The bastard’s been writhing in agony for nearly three weeks.”</p><p>Jaskier couldn’t hold back his irate shout and, before he could think, he had the baron by the collar. His vision, hazed in red, narrowed in on the not-so-smug face of the noble. The bard stared him down for a moment, watching the baron’s helpless gaze flicker to the guards behind him. As gently as he can, Jaskier stated, “You touch a single white hair on that man’s head, it’ll be your execution I’m to watch this evening, understand? Show. Me. The. Witcher.”</p><p>The baron visibly gulped before finally nodding his head in agreement. When Jaskier released him, the man led him down into the musty dungeon. It seemed completely empty, except for the rats that scurried along the floor… And then there was Geralt.</p><p>Jaskier’s heart tore in two as he saw the nearly lifeless form of his Witcher. Bruises littered his skin in sickly greens and purples. Barely scabbed wounds were red and inflamed, infected from lack of care. Even Geralt’s closed eyes had dark rings around them. Externally, it appeared that they had subdued the Witcher.</p><p>“Geralt,” Jaskier called in an even tone, trying to hide the lump forming in his throat. “Geralt, say something to me.”</p><p>When Geralt opened his eyes, Jaskier’s fears were pushed aside. Those golden orbs possessed the same fierce glow they’d always had. The Witcher had been fighting all this time and although he was physically exhausted, he was alive and well. Geralt gave the weakest of smiles and rasped, “Jaskier. How good to see you.”</p><p>Jaskier turned his head to the baron and looked at him expectantly. “Well? What the hell are you waiting for? Open the damned cell!”</p><p>The baron fumbled with his keys and quickly unlocked the door. Jaskier shoved him aside and knelt before the Witcher. He held the scarred face in his hands and took a moment to relish in the warmth of his skin. The bard listened to the staggered intakes of breath and the labored exhales. All of these things only showed Jaskier that Geralt was truly alive. He could only grin, watching Geralt’s eyes scan his body, as if to make sure this was real. Jaskier looked over to the baron, who was fidgeting nervously. The bard sneered, “Get me the Witcher’s things, his horse, and more than enough coin to compensate for his wrongful imprisonment. Are we clear?”</p><p>“Yes sir,” the baron answered, scrambling away and taking his guards with him. “We’ll have it all as soon as we can.”</p><p>Jaskier went to say something more, but Geralt stole the words from his lips with a kiss. The Witcher had no words for the gratitude he felt, so he could do nothing but show it. It was brief, but Jaskier received the message loud and clear. They took a moment just to stare, basking in the presence of their missing half. </p><p>“They were going to kill you,” Jaskier pointed out in a shaky whisper. “If I was hours later, I would have found a corpse. I… I don’t know what I would have done if you were…”</p><p>“I owe you my life,” Geralt interrupted, his face lit up in one of his rare grins. “Jask, don’t think that way. I’m alive, and that is what matters. Who else would save you from the hands of jilted lovers?”</p><p>Jaskier laughed, running his hand over the Witcher’s long locks and purred, “Alright, you’ve kept your humor these past few months I’ve been away. Quite funny. Now, let’s get you out of here, shall we?”</p><p> </p><p>The bard reached out to carry the man, but Geralt flinched away instead. He looked annoyed rather than scared, thank the goddess above, but it still left Jaskier confused. The man looked barely able to hold himself up as is. There was no way he’d be able to stand. Jaskier’s confused gaze was met only with the Witcher’s shame.</p><p>“On my own two feet,” Geralt mumbled. “I’m walking out of here, I have to. I just need a potion.”</p><p>Vesemir’s voice from his Witcher training long ago rang in Geralt’s mind. He’d always been told not to let them ever see that they’d hurt him. The White Wolf may be wounded and weakened, but that was no one’s business but his own. Letting everyone, especially that damned baron, see him carried out of here would be him admitting defeat. He didn’t know if Jaskier would understand or think it merely stubborn pride, but he had to stand on his own. Then, and only then, would he have won.</p><p>Jaskier sighed, resting a placating kiss on his cheek. “Alright, alright. Once they arrive with the potions, you’ll walk out on your own. I promise, dear heart. You can show them all you’ve triumphed.”</p><p>Geralt hung his head and sighed in relief, thankful it didn’t come to a fight. He wasn’t sure if he would have had the energy to protest much further. Jaskier knew him better than most, which was surprisingly comforting. He loathed being vulnerable, but his bard was different. However, he didn’t have much time to ponder that thought as the baron returned with his swords and his bag of potions.</p><p>“The horse is outside and properly tacked,” the baron informed, gently placing the bag and weapons inside the cell. “You’re free to leave.”</p><p>Jaskier gave a nod of acknowledgement and waved him away dismissively, which the baron took as his cue to leave. Geralt immediately reached for the bag and downed three vials. They took effect immediately, and Jaskier could only watch as his partner’s whole body tensed. Geralt was paralyzed by the agony of toxins releasing into his bloodstream. He gritted his teeth and released a single, pained grunt. When he looked to Jaskier, his eyes shifted from glimmering gold to an endless, black void. This would terrify almost everyone. That is, everyone except Jaskier. The bard only sighed, kissing Geralt’s practically feverish temple and rising to his feet. He held out a hand to the Witcher and, to his surprise, he took it.</p><p>Geralt wobbled on his feet, but steadied himself against Jaskier’s solid presence. Even the potions he took, Swallow, Cat, and Tawny Owl, were barely enough to keep him on his feet. Once he knew his legs wouldn’t betray him, he released his bard’s hand. Then, impatiently, he beckons for his swords. Jaskier hesitated, withholding the weapons for a moment.</p><p>“Geralt, dear heart,” he pleaded, “Are you sure that’s wise? You can barely stand as is and these are awfully heavy.”</p><p>The Witcher, on instinct, bared his teeth in a snarl. Jaskier could see sharp, elongated canines that could do considerable damage. Despite knowing this, he didn’t waver in stance. If anything, his stance only grew firmer. In jest, Jaskier bared his teeth back.</p><p>“Oh fuck off. You keep forgetting that you don’t frighten me, White Wolf,” he scolded, holding the swords loosely to his chest. “These things are damn heavy and I’ve let you walk out without any help from me. Now, I must draw the line somewhere, Geralt. You’ve already won, there’s no need to strain.”</p><p>With a huff, Geralt turned and left the cell with his potion bag in hand. Jaskier trudged behind, a small smirk on his lips as he hefted the swords on his back. How Geralt managed to wield them with such ease was a mystery to him. He was about to jokingly ask when he noticed Geralt staring down a rather terrified baron. The Witcher leaned in close to the man that reeked of fear, watching him tremble helplessly. Jaskier stood close by to ensure that Geralt wouldn’t do anything he would regret.</p><p>Instead of attacking him as Jaskier expected, the Witcher simply muttered, “Do better.”</p><p>As Geralt strode off and out the doors, Jaskier only watched in awe. Every time Jaskier thought he completely understood the famed Geralt of Rivia, there was a new layer he caught a glimpse of. It was just as rare as it was beautiful. In fact, it was one of the many aspects of Geralt that made him fall deeper and deeper in love.</p><p>Jaskier finally caught up to Geralt, who was gently stroking Roach’s mane and babbling something too quiet for his human ears to pick up on. It was a comforting sight, and so the bard allowed them a moment alone while he loaded Roach’s saddlebags. When he looked back a few moments later, Geralt was still beside the mare patiently waiting for Jaskier to be done.</p><p>“Get on,” the Witcher demanded.</p><p>“Geralt, you need to get on Roach,” Jaskier said incredulously. “Walking has never killed me, and you’re about to keel over at any moment. Please, I—”</p><p>“I'll… sit behind,” Geralt bit out, looking almost embarrassed as he gestured to the saddle.</p><p>Jaskier suddenly understood that this was the best choice Geralt had. He clearly couldn’t walk another step, but who knew if he’d be able to stay in the saddle once they got moving. Without another word of argument, Jaskier settled into the saddle. Before he even felt comfortable atop Roach, the Witcher climbed on behind him. Geralt’s hands gingerly wrapped around his waist and he leaned in close enough for Jaskier to have felt hot breath against his neck. He shivered, but urged Roach onward towards a nearby town. He prayed to every deity he knew that they wouldn’t be walking into a fight. The bard wasn’t sure Geralt could wait for them to hop from town to town in search of a proper inn.</p><p>Thankfully, the first inn they arrived at was pleasantly surprised to see the White Wolf. He was met with a kind innkeeper and his two daughters who were nothing but concerned for Geralt’s safety and well being. Apparently, he had saved the village from a nearby basilisk a few moons back. Since then, Geralt had been promised a free room whenever he was in the area. Jaskier thanked them profusely and requested nothing less than the best stablehand for Roach, as well as a bath and food for the Witcher. As they bustled about, Jaskier half dragged, half carried Geralt to the room they’d be staying in. He laid his Witcher on the bed with a groan, watching the man’s eyes flicker back and forth. Jaskier frantically flipped through the bag for a vial with a creamy white substance. It took a moment to find it in the messy, unorganized pack but he finally procured it.</p><p>Pressing it to Geralt’s lips, he purred, “Come on, dear heart. It’s White Honey, and I can’t treat you until you drink it. Open up.”</p><p>Geralt did exactly that, and the transformation was instant. With a pained shout, Geralt arched his back from the bed as the toxicity was pulled from his bloodstream. He bit his lip against any further sound as to not disturb the rest of the inn. For comfort, he holds Geralt’s hand through it all, not making a sound even when the squeeze grew unbearably tight. When the process was completed, the Witcher’s eyes were returned to their familiar golden hue.</p><p>“Jaskier,” he whispered, eyes frantically searching until they landed on the bard. “Where are we?”</p><p>“An inn,” Jaskier answered softly, stroking Geralt’s hair with his free hand. “You took care of their little basilisk problem a while ago, and they are eternally grateful. They’re fetching you a meal and a bath as we speak.”</p><p>Geralt’s eyes grew wide at the sound of food just as his stomach growled as loud as the monsters he fought. Jaskier eyed him a moment, having never seen Geralt react so obviously to the thought of a meal even during times food was scarce. There were plenty of times Geralt would skip meals for days at a time since the food they had was only enough for one of them. Jaskier was never pleased with the deal they struck, but Geralt always functioned just fine. He just assumed it was a mutation-related benefit. Now, however, the Witcher was acting like he’d been starved. Afraid of the answer, Jaskier asked, “When was the last time you ate?”</p><p>Geralt closed his eyes and sighed, knowing just how displeased Jaskier would be with the answer. Finally, he admitted, “Before my bounty over three weeks ago.”</p><p>“How the fuck are you even alive?!”</p><p>Geralt wheezed out a laugh before answering, “Meditation. Slows down bodily functions but I can only do it for so long.”</p><p>Jaskier was about to say more but he was interrupted by a knock on the door. He gave the Witcher a look, as if to say that they weren’t finished with this discussion, and answered it. As he suspected, it was the innkeeper with an enormous platter accompanied by his daughters hauling the steaming bath water. The innkeeper left the meal on the table and smiled gently at the Witcher on bed. He looked back to Jaskier and whispered, “If he needs a healer, please don’t hesitate to send for me. I’ll collect Meredith from the village and she’d be happy to be of service.”</p><p>Meanwhile, the daughters had set down the bath water and walked over to Geralt’s bed. They watched with fearful expressions as golden eyes flickered over their faces. The Witcher, of course, was used to being feared. He couldn’t remember the last time a child had looked at him with a pleasant expression. Blaviken? Yes, that had been it. Sweet Marilka had been insistent upon being his best friend and travelling companion until he’d crossed swords with Renfri. He wondered, briefly, how she was doing. Did she still despise him?</p><p>“Master Geralt,” the eldest daughter, no older than thirteen, spoke up. Geralt blinked away the thoughts and focused on the present as she asked, “Are you going to be alright?”</p><p>Geralt hesitated before realizing that they weren’t afraid of him. The girls, in the face of a scarred, monstrous Witcher, were afraid for his safety. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this odd occurrence. Strangers never worried about him. Sometimes he felt odd when Jaskier worried about him and they’d been travelling together for most of the bard’s adult life. His heart, whether one believed it existed or not, swelled with an unfamiliar emotion.</p><p>“Yes,” he answers gruffly, the faintest of smiles on his lips. “I’ll be on my feet within a day or two. Witcher healing is faster than that of a human.”</p><p>“Girls, leave Master Geralt be,” the innkeeper called gently. “Let him rest so that he may be strong enough to save a village in the future, just as he’s done for us.”</p><p>The girls giggled and nodded, waving goodbye to the Witcher. Then, in unison, they said to the bard, “Thank you for taking care of him, Master Jaskier!”</p><p>Jaskier blushed and knelt before the two girls. “It’s my greatest pleasure in life, my darlings. Geralt is a hero, and he should be treated as such. Perhaps if he had a portrait from two lovely darlings he would feel all the better, hm? Now go on, don’t give your Papa a hard time.”</p><p>They dashed off, giggling amongst themselves and planning out the perfect drawing. Their father followed shortly after them, smiling at the gentleman before closing the door behind him. Jaskier beamed as they left, watching Geralt’s contented grin. He neared the edge of the bed, holding his suturing kit and bandages. As Jaskier began to examine his wounds, he commented, “I didn’t know you were good with kids.”</p><p>Geralt winced as Jaskier’s hands brushed over a particularly painful wound, but he still smiled and admitted, “Neither did I. I haven’t had a child look at me with anything besides fear in a long time. I… I suppose I need some practice until I collect my Child Surprise.”</p><p>Jaskier hummed in agreement, cleaning the worst of the wounds. Surprisingly, nothing was broken. Geralt would simply have to deal with many new scars. The bard remained gentle as he sutured a long gash across Geralt’s forehead. He apologized each time the Witcher hissed in pain or flinched. Normally, Geralt was as steady as a rock when it came to mending. However, he knew the man was weakened significantly and thus his pain threshold was lowered.</p><p>“You’ve done well,” Jaskier said when he finished, kissing his temple. “Now, let me help you up and we can get you to the table for a proper meal, and I can get rid of these garish robes.”</p><p>Geralt grunted, holding out a hand as he hauled himself up with Jaskier’s help. He quickly found his feet and stumbled to the table. Upon sitting, he proceeded to eat like an animal. The nobility in Jaskier was shocked and appalled by the lack of decorum. However the true Jaskier, Geralt’s partner, was just saddened. His Witcher had been starved, and for what? For not fulfilling a contract exactly how it was described? For making the humane choice?</p><p>He took the opportunity to strip down to his underclothes, tucking away the viscount disguise until it would come in handy again. Now, he felt more like himself. Acting as the true viscount felt like a struggle. His greatest accomplishment as an actor was playing believable nobility. Surely he did keep an appreciation for the finer things in life, but he’d never truly need them. He would take a night under a starry sky with Geralt and Roach over a stuffy royal court any day.</p><p>“I meant to apologize to you,” Geralt piped up when he was half way through the enormous platter of various fruits and cheeses. “For earlier, when I asked for my swords.”</p><p>Jaskier turned, smiling at Geralt. “Nonsense, you were pissed! Rightfully so, too. I don’t take it to heart, darling.”</p><p>“I acted like an animal,” the Witcher muttered, head in his hands. “I’m sorry, Jaskier.”</p><p>The bard sighed as he stood across from his partner’s seat at the table. “Thank you, dear heart. I know it’s hard for you to talk about these emotional moments. I… I appreciate your candor.”</p><p>Geralt returned to his meal, granted at a much slower pace. He no longer made eye contact out of his own embarrassment, but there was still a faint frown on his lips. Jaskier took this opportunity to step behind the Witcher and gently try to detangle his white hair with his hands. His nimble fingers gracefully danced against his scalp, and he heard Geralt’s hum of content. Jaskier only grinned and continued, doing all that he could to ease the man.</p><p>“I hate it when you see me that way,” Geralt admitted, his voice strained. “You’ll remember that you travel with a monster.”</p><p>Jaskier paused, realizing that Geralt’s worries weren’t so simply dismissed. He should have imagined that this was the true concern. While the bard appreciated that Geralt cared so much about his opinion, the thought that he would somehow be repulsed was preposterous. Jaskier had always been attracted to danger and adventure, but Geralt was so much more than that. The White Wolf was a hero and friend of humanity, as he often proclaimed in his ballads. There was nothing Geralt could do that would make Jaskier renounce their relationship.</p><p>Jaskier didn’t say any of that. He knew just saying that wouldn’t be enough. Instead, he asked, “Would you like a bath?”</p><p>Geralt glanced back at Jaskier with a raised brow and gave his signature grunt of affirmation. Wearily, he allowed the bard to guide him to the side of the tub of now lukewarm water. Using much more effort than usually required, he cast Igni to reheat the water. With Jaskier’s assistance, he stripped off his bloody, dirty clothes and settled into the tub. His eyes fluttered shut in relief, even as the warm water stung his broken skin. He took a moment to relish in the thought that he was no longer in that damned dungeon.</p><p>“Geralt, am I a good man?”</p><p>The Witcher peeked an eye open, watching Jaskier’s even expression. He closed his eyes and huffed out a laugh. “Fishing for compliments, Jask? You’ve never been subtle, but this is blunt even for you.”</p><p>Jask rolled his eyes and admitted, “I almost killed a man today. That fucking baron almost ended up with his head on a platter. I could have done it too. And when you told me he starved you, like you were some pet to be neglected… Geralt, I haven’t abandoned the option. And you? What did you do, even while nearly feral on potions? I heard what you said. ‘Do better.’ You didn’t hit him, didn’t even lay a finger on him. Which one of us is the monster?”</p><p>Geralt raised a brow and finally looked at Jaskier seriously. “Jaskier, you’re acting ridiculous. Leave it be. I understand you don’t believe I’m a monster. You can feel however you want.”</p><p>Jaskier groaned in frustration, practically bashing his head against the edge of the tub. Geralt was quick to hold out a hand as a buffer, glaring at the bard. He was being melodramatic as usual. The Witcher knew he was a monster, just as many humans did. This fact didn’t matter to him as much as it mattered to Jaskier, clearly. Really, what mattered to Geralt was that Jaskier saw him as just a man. The rest was just white noise.</p><p>“So you’re allowed to see yourself as evil for doing nothing but good, and yet I can’t ask what you think of me as a man with a vicious streak? You’re so hypocritical, Geralt! I can’t believe you would—”</p><p>“Jaskier, that’s enough—”</p><p>“No, I don’t think it is,” Jaskier growled out. “My closest companion is acting like he is the scum of the Continent and not letting me get a word in edgewise! You’re awfully unfair.”</p><p>Geralt closed his eyes with an uneasy huff. His stomach churned at the thought of Jaskier inevitably giving up on his stance, so he stopped arguing the point. Even though he didn’t believe in the bard’s sweet words, he needed to hear them. He needed to know that his partner hadn’t given up on him. It was a vicious cycle in his mind of wanting to keep Jaskier safe and away from him, but also needing him close for his own selfish desires. So, deciding to remain neutral, he finished his bath in silence. His chest tightened at the realization that Jaskier wasn’t chattering or humming as he usually did.</p><p>Once Geralt climbed out of the tub, Jaskier helped him into his clothes. There were no warm smiles or lingering touches. Everything was done out of need, since he couldn’t stand for long on his own two feet. The Witcher hadn’t felt this much emotional distress in a long while. When he sat on the bed, he furrowed his brow and stared at his own calloused hands. He clenched his fists, wanting desperately to speak up but frightened of how his bard would respond. Geralt didn’t realize that Jaskier was already staring at him until he felt a hand on his shoulder. </p><p>“Hey, you look… Well, you look like someone stomped on your heart. Is it really so heartbreaking to hear that someone cares about you and your self-worth?”</p><p>“I fear one day you’ll grow tired of trying to convince me,” Geralt blurted out suddenly, as if a dam had burst inside of him.</p><p>Jaskier frowned, climbing on the bed and deciding to sit in Geralt’s lap so they were face to face. He placed a hand on the Witcher’s cheek and watched as he leaned into the touch. The golden eyes, usually so full of energy and life, were only dim and sorrowful. Jaskier realized, suddenly, that he may have been misleading in his attempt to convince his beloved.</p><p>“Oh Geralt,” he purred, leaning his face so that he and the Witcher are nose to nose and eye to eye. “My darling Witcher. I will spend the rest of my earthly days trying to convince you if that’s what it takes. Nothing is too much for you. Do you understand me? I’m not about to give up on you just because you’re a bit grumpy.”</p><p>Then, as if to convince, Jaskier pulled him in for a tender kiss. Geralt stiffened in surprise before relaxing into the affection. The Witcher would never admit it, but Jaskier knew he welcomed moments like these. He would never risk his intimidating image, but he welcomed a cuddle and a kiss now and then. The bard was willing to take the silent cues if it meant his companion was happy.</p><p>“You never stop surprising me,” Geralt rasped once they part, littering kisses along his partner’s neck and collarbone. “You’re too good for the likes of me, but I will… selfishly indulge.”</p><p>“I love you,” Jaskier reminded with a knowing look. “Dear heart, taking what you deserve is never selfish. You most definitely deserve someone who adores you. You deserve someone that will lavish you in affections from sunrise to sunset. Someone has to remind you of the hero you are, if you won’t do it for yourself.”</p><p>Geralt gave a rare, genuine smile. There was a faint tint to his cheeks, which Jaskier knew to be the Witcher’s blush. The man was at ease for once in his long life, and the bard took advantage of it. Gesturing for Geralt to lay back, he laid mostly atop the man. He could feel the even rise and fall of his lover’s chest, thankfully showing no signs of distress at the intimacy. He bestowed a kiss above the man’s heart and glanced up to see Geralt staring down at him curiously.</p><p>“Rest, my dear,” Jaskier whispered. “You’ve earned it.”</p><p>The following morning, Jaskier was awoken by the pitter-patter of children’s feet along the bare floor. He blearily peeked to find the innkeeper’s little girls holding out their portrait of Geralt, Jaskier, and even Roach. It was rather good for a child’s artwork, and the bard couldn’t hold back his grin. Geralt stirred as well, becoming fully alert in a matter of moments. When his eyes fell upon the picture, he bit back a smile.</p><p>“It’s to make you feel better,” the youngest explained with a proud gleam in her eye. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>Geralt chuckled, glancing back and forth between the pair. He confessed, “Invincible, little one. You’ve done excellent work. Thank you.”</p><p>The girls handed him the picture with bright red, embarrassed cheeks. Giggling amongst themselves, they gave their thanks in unison before scampering out of the room. Jaskier laughed at their antics, but it died in his throat when he saw the Witcher’s awestruck gaze as he examined the drawing.</p><p>“Geralt, are you alright?”</p><p>The Witcher hummed in affirmation, carefully folding the art and holding it to his chest. When they left later that morning, Geralt still had the drawing tucked into his armor in a safe place. Jaskier pretended not to notice the careful way he guarded the artwork like it was a most prized possession. He also pretended not to notice the way Geralt peered at the picture when they arrived in a particularly rough village even years later. The bard was glad that something could remind him he deserved love and praise as much as anyone else; Jaskier would fight for that notion until the end of his days.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey everyone, thanks so much for reading! As always, feel free to leave comments, kudos, and constructive criticism. Also, I have a tumblr now! There isn't much on it yet, but I'll be there so feel free to say hello. Link here: https://nerdybirdy6602.tumblr.com/. Oh, one more thing: I'll be posting every two weeks instead of every week. As a freshman in college, I severely underestimated my workload and need to slow my roll. Thanks for understanding and have a lovely day!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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